


Hazards of Travel

by Daegaer



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angels, Bureaucracy, Demons, Gen, Humor, Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-15
Updated: 2008-09-15
Packaged: 2019-08-08 22:06:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16437692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daegaer/pseuds/Daegaer
Summary: Aziraphale vs bureaucracy.





	Hazards of Travel

"Oh. Oh, _sugar_ ," Aziraphale said, peering into his passport.

"Yes, honeybunch?" Crowley said sweetly.

"Very funny," Aziraphale muttered. "They didn't take the visa waiver out of my passport last time, look!" He waved the passport under Crowley's nose as they shuffled nearer to the immigration officer's desk.

"Huh," Crowley said. He tended to fill out such forms with responses such as _None of your blessed business_ when asked his address in the States, and _When I feel like it, of course_ , when asked for his date of return.* "What's the problem?"

"They'll say I overstayed my visa! They might not let me in! And I need to shop in New York!"

"You do need to," Crowley deadpanned. "The world depends on you getting a supply of sweatshirts and mugs with the Manhattan skyline on them."

"You're not helping," Aziraphale whinged as he stepped up to the desk. "I think I should explain," he started gabbling as the official looked from his passport to him and back again, frowning deeply, "I really did leave the United States on time, and I really did leave, which you can tell, of course, as I'm seeking entry. Again. Not that I'm telling you how to do you job, young man, but honestly, why didn't someone collect this when I was leaving the silly country? Not that I think America is all that silly, you understand, more . . . quaint. Not that I think quaint is a bad thing to be –"

There was a small crack of thunder, and a strong smell of brimstone, and the official found he had turned into a frog. His tongue shot out, and adhered to the errant visa waiver, tearing it neatly out. Aziraphale looked at Crowley, aghast.

"You are _holding_ people _up_ ," Crowley said, sweeping past, barely stopping to show his passport photo to the frog. "Do _try_ not to be a blessed embarrassment."

Aziraphale scurried after him. Everyone else in the queue found the immigration officials tried to be much nicer than usual, that day.

 

*The forms stretched to accommodate his answers.


End file.
